Month: September 2012

This weekend marks the official start of autumn in Los Angeles, which means stupid hot weather, wildfires, and a plethora of USC football tailgates. As stoked as I am that baseball, football, and college football all overlap during this time of the year, there is one more fall event that gives me a hypothetical boner – Halloween.

Halloween is not simply one night of the year – it is, in fact, a monthlong celebration where everyone can dress like a slut all things strange and unusual prevail. A season all its own, Halloween is a haven for freaks like me. It will be the only time that it is acceptable for me to look like an 80’s transexual hooker rock a blonde mullet wig and dress like David Bowie:

If any of you rip off my Jareth costume I will steal your baby.

I’m a slut… duh!

I come from a totally insane and weird creative family where Halloween costumes were taken to the extreme. Generic, store-bought ensembles were unacceptable, so you can bet your ass I was not one of the 15 girls in my 1st grade class dressed as the Pink Power Ranger. My individuality faltered when I attempted the baby prostitute thing á la Mean Girls during most of my high school and college years, even taking a trip to the Playboy Mansion back in ’08. One year I think I literally went as a prostitute. My parents must have been so proud. I’d like to think of this as a really long stage in my Catholic school girl rebellion. However, abnormality clearly won in the end.

Allow the wild rumpus to commence.

A pattern has developed in my costume decisions: I’ve been on a roll… of dressing like a dude. Hot, right? A couple years ago, I dominated Max from Where The Wild Things Are. Last year? Oh, just casually worked the “sexy” Braveheart – it was epic. (Naturally, I got too blacked out to take a single legitimate photo for that one… Mel G. would be proud!) Why break the stellar cross dressing streak I’ve been on? The drag costumes will continue and I will rock the shit out of them, obvi. Just add that to the endless list of why I’m awesome & prepare to have your mind blown. Duh.

As thrilling as it is to acceptably dress like a stripper during Halloween, it gets boring. There’s no personality. No thought. Rarely is there any real effort or creativity. Ladies, we’ve all done it and we could argue it as an essential part of the journey to our sexual self-discovery – but now that college is over, the only legitimate excuse for slutty costume mediocrity is a lack of time.

So the Incredible Hulk IS proportional…

For those of you “adults” who refuse to embrace this holiday, you are dead to me. Halloween is easily one of the greatest times of the year for plenty of reasons. Although it sort of goes without saying that a benefit of Halloween is the opportunity to wear minimal clothing, it also gives you the chance to be completely weird or to be someone else without appearing like a total psychopath. It is not only accepted, but it is encouraged to get completely sloshed – whether it be at a costume party, club, bar, or in the middle of suburban trick-or-treaters. With the exception of the candy you may or may not have to purchase for the masked spawn running around, you can mostly spend your money on yourself and your super rad costume instead of crap for other people. Being a narcissist, this is a very appealing quality to me.

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Movember may not be for another month or so, but I can hold this in no longer: I have a confession to make, yet again. You might think it’s dirty, but maybe that’s why I like it… My friends don’t understand… I’m not sure I even understand… However, I think it is time for me to publicly acknowledge to the world that…

I have a thing for mustaches.

Mustache rides: 50¢

Let me be clear, just because a guy has a mustache doesn’t mean I’m going to be into it. Like, sorry Wilford Brimley, it’s never gonna happen. But an old school Burt Reynolds or Tom Selleck? Now we’re talking. Hello, there’s a reason Monica was so into Dr. Burke on Friends… mustache rides, obvs. Yeah, he was old enough to be her dad – but he had a killer ‘stache and he wore it with confidence and it was pretty damn sexy. Remember the one where Chandler even gets jealous of Richard’s ‘stache? That only legitimized its power. *Cue Darth Vader impersonation* You don’t know the powa of the ‘stache ride!

Am I wrong in guessing that mustaches are often representative of a man’s masculinity? They’re like, hey bro, I have a mustache, therefore, I’m more of a man than you are – and then when a guy can’t grow a real mustache, he gets all self-conscious about it. Lol.

What I can’t seem to wrap my finger around is why more of my female friends aren’t into the moustache. Call me crazy, but I think there’s something totally hot about them on the right kinda guy. I like my men to be men. A hairy chest. Some scruff. A ‘stache. Oh baby... It’s manly. It’s masculine. I dig it. Werewolves need not apply – unless you look like Joe Manganiello:

Hi.

I feel that mustaches, like cats, just have a bad rap with the women of my generation. Many of my female peers probably associate them with 70’s porn stars, molesters, historical villains, and hipsters. Maybe it reminds them of their dads from the 80’s & 90’s, but my father, however, never rocked the solo ‘stache – thank GOD. (But I’m sure you could pull it off if you wanted to, Bill.)

“It’s a time machine to the back of Burt Reynold’s camero.”

Regardless of an individual’s sexual attraction to the mustache, there is no denying its resurgence in popular culture. The Mustachio Bashio is all the rage, finger ‘stache tats are flourishing, and I am pleased to see this facial accessory making a few more appearances in my social circle. If you are a dude and aren’t daring enough to attempt the independent ‘stache, go ahead and start off with the full on beard. A lot of chicks dig the scruffy look, so it’s not too difficult to take that to the next level. Personally, I find that style pretty foxy as well – until you begin to resemble a lumber jack or the homeless… Or until making out with you becomes facial rape on my chin.

Ladies, when the month of November arrives and we are in the midst of unshaven men, I implore you to see the mustache as a masculinely alluring facial ornament. Allow it to draw you in. Learn to love it. Go for a mustache ride or seven. And remember, it’s for a good cause!

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Everyone knows that California is earthquake country. I was 6 months old when that big one shook San Francisco back in ’89 and grew up along the San Andreas fault line, so you could say I’m fairly used to the west coast tremors. Despite the potential destruction they bring, I must admit I’ve always found them somewhat exciting – I guess it’s the way they shake things up. Pun intended.

Allow the earth to be your vibrator…

Even now, when I fear Los Angeles may break off into the Pacific, I still get a wonderful adrenaline rush whenever they occur. I’ve grown accustomed to the average 3.2’s and 4.4’s… It’s casual. Sure, there’s always a split second of terror when I wonder if it could be The Big One, but for the other few seconds, why not just enjoy the ride?

Recently, Southern California has been like that girl who cries at parties to get attention semi scaring the shit out of everyone. In the past week, Bev Hills has been hit with 2 mediocre quakes, and while I was sleeping last night Fresno was hit with 2 more. Can we just, like, chill for a sec Mother Nature? Let’s examine this a little further: the Mayans have freaked out everyone and their mothers with this 2012 nonsense, bath salts are turning people into zombies, Snooki has given birth to what I can only suspected to be the anti-Christ an actual human, and now SoCal thinks it’s a live dubstep performance. Is this the end? Have we reached the mighty Apocalypse?

Although the past month’s frequent tremors have been slightly concerning, I emotionally feel unpopular when I don’t physically feel the earth move. Naturally, the entire world is going to post about every earthquake ever online, so I have to look at these statuses like they were pictures from a party I wasn’t invited to. Like, hi earthquake, where was my invite? Rude. However, the only times I’m ever really positive I’ve felt a quake are when they wake me from my beauty sleep. Following the other occurrences I am already conscious for, I need that social media validation to make sure I’m not a complete psychopath. Was that an earthquake or just me falling off the couch laughing at Tosh.0? Just me prancing around my apartment like Aly Raisman? Just me doing a full blown solo performance to A Goofy Movie’s “Eye to Eye” in the mirror? Just my neighbors’ aggressive lovemaking? Have I gotten that fat?

What will it mean for us if the tectonic plates don’t stop their excessive dry humping soon? If Judgement Day is upon us, allow me to be the first to say that I’m probably fucked. See you in Hell, my darlings… But for now, LGFU.

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“I don’t believe in the Republican party or the Democratic party. I just believe in parties.”

– Samantha Jones

Cocktail Party 2012

Election season is in full swing and the only thing that frustrates me more than this time of year are the people who incorrectly use there, their, and they’re in their Facebook statuses. I would consider myself an opinionated and often outspoken person, but the politics of recent years just make my head explode. I’m no economist and never even took a Poli Sci class, so my only real “authority” on the subject is that I am an American voter – which really gives me no authority at all considering how stupid the majority of Americans actually are. OMG did I actually just call the majority of Americans stupid? Yes. Duh. Like, have you seen that “Honey Boo Boo” show? People choose to watch that over brilliantly written and acted works of art. Um, whathafuh? I’d go into a detailed rant about how reality tv is destroying the world, but I’ll save that for another time.

Ya gotsta have some titties, baby.

I’d like to think I am not Ryan Lochte another verifiably dense citizen of the United States, so I do my best to stay somewhat informed regarding our country’s current state of affairs. It’s important to stay informed – especially if you are a voter in a democracy. However, just like Sex & The City‘s Samantha Jones, I refuse to support either reigning political party – call me a political GDI. I’d rather not label myself or associate myself with houses that are personified by a stupid donkey and a fat elephant only represent a fraction of my beliefs. For many Americans, I think it’s easier to fall back on a label than it is to develop their own educated opinions. Additionally, I can’t stand the constant generalization of both parties’ members. Just because someone is a Republican does not mean they are an obsessively Christian homophobic misogynist who believes in such a thing as “legitimate rape” and not every Democrat is a pothead hippie welfare socialist who is occupying Wall Street and demanding free abortions. I’m not saying that those kinds of Republicans and Democrats don’t exist, but I do have an issue with people who fail to recognize the various individual beliefs within each party. Like, why can’t we just meet in the middle? Why is everyone so radical in a non-surfer bro kind of way?

Haters gonna hate.

Normally, I DGAF about these sorts of things – but the fact that this bullshit is vomiting all over my Facebook newsfeed is pissing me off more than Los Angeles Parking Enforcement. If you must commit this social media faux pas, at least talk about the real issues – like how our country is going to be royally fucked if we don’t fix the economy or how an idiotic anti-abortion law in Arizona was somehow passed stating pregnancy begins 2 weeks before conception… Srsly, when will we start giving our government reps an IQ test? Whether it’s conservatives talking about Obama’s birth certificate or liberals comparing Romney’s campaign slogan to the KKK’s from 1922 – just shut up. Please. I’m begging you. Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Nobody is perfect except me and everybody sucks. Also, don’t forget to vote!

Party On.

Update 9/6/2012

If I ever meet Obama I can tell him I didn’t watch his DNC 2012 speech because I was alone in my room recording an a’capella version of A Goofy Movie’s “Eye to Eye” on Garage Band.